


Against Entropy

by alliterate



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, Implied Past Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:30:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alliterate/pseuds/alliterate
Summary: A late-night conversation, after the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anaplian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaplian/gifts).



> Originally posted on tumblr and written in response to the prompt: _things you said after it was over_. Title comes from [this poem](http://www.tor.com/2011/04/03/sonnet-against-entropy/) by John M. Ford.

The stars here are the same as they always were. There’s comfort in that. She’s been sitting at the window seat watching them for—well, for God knows how long when she hears a quiet rustling from the bed, a creak of the springs, a sleep-hoarse voice:

“Hera, what time—”

Silence, then. Lovelace doesn’t break it. It isn’t the first time this has happened, to either of them, and it won’t be the last.

Eventually Minkowski rolls over again, this time to face Lovelace. Lovelace can see her face out of the corner of her eye.

“Anything up there I should see tonight?”

“Well, none of ‘em are big and blue, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lovelace says, mouth quirking a little.

A voiceless laugh. “That’s comforting to hear.” Minkowski shifts a little, stretches her neck. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

“Nightmares. The usual.”

“I figured. But—”

“Just go back to sleep.”

Silence. Then: “Isabel…”

It’s still strange to hear, her given name in Minkowski’s mouth. It’s been months and it’s still strange. “ _Don’t_ tell me it’s going to be fine.”

“When have I ever told you that?” Minkowski says, bristling audibly. “We both know it’s not fine.”

This, Lovelace thinks — Minkowski annoyed, her own hackles up — this is more like it. This she knows how to do. “Don’t go all Commander on me,” she says.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost people, _Captain_.”

Lovelace feels herself go cold. “If you want to compare body counts, I—”

Minkowski cuts her off with a sigh. “You’ve got me beat, I know.” A pause. “That’s not what I wanted, anyway. That isn't— Why do we always end up here? This isn’t deep space. This is our home.”

The silence that follows is less than comfortable. The mounting tension as it stretches, more than anything, is what drives Lovelace to speak. Quietly, she says, “The Hephaestus was home for me.”

“What?”

“The Hephaestus. My first time around. I know it never was for you, but my time there, my crew, before it went…”

She trails off. They both know how it went.

Minkowski takes a moment before answering. When she does, she sounds hesitant, and so earnest it almost hurts Lovelace to hear her. “I think… a lot of the time, home feels like something that should be easy. You were in charge there, you loved your crew: of course that felt like home to you. I felt like that with Doug and Hera sometimes. And nothing’s been easy since we got back.”

Lovelace frowns. “That’s not what I'm—”

Minkowski waves her off. “What I’m saying is, sometimes it’s easy. And then sometimes, you have to take your destiny by the balls and make it yourself. We got out. Maybe now this is something we can build.”

She allows that thought to hang there, for Lovelace to reach out and take. Lovelace doesn’t answer for a moment. Outside their window, an early riser Lovelace often spots on nights like this is out walking her dalmatian. The stars are less visible now, the twilight casting everything down on earth grey.

“Go back to sleep, Renée,” she says finally, shifting to settle into her seat more comfortably. She looks at Minkowski and gives her a soft smile. “I promise I’ll be here in the morning.”


End file.
